Dead Man Walking
by Beechwood0708
Summary: Birthday present for Jamie. There's an accident outside a club. Vince is cold and bleeding, with no breath and with no pulse... yet he's not quite dead...
1. Death of Electroboy

Righty, I haven't updated in aaaaaaggeees, and I had better start because I'm quickly becoming this site's crazy cat lady. I turn up in the background giving month late reviews and don't write much. Is all about to change. I'm discovering my writing flame again.

Unfortunately, this means I'm going to have to stop reviewing absolutely everything. Which makes me feel really rude, but it's keeping me behind. I will try and do as much as I can though. I really don't like reading something and not giving feedback on it.

But anyway, on to the point. Birthday present ficcage for Jamie. I deviated from your request a bit- I had him stabbed instead of shot- but there's a reason for that. It'll be five chapters long, and I'll post one every day, with the final chapter on your birthday. I do hope you like it.

Dead Man Walking

The insults were flying and the punches were surely soon to follow. Howard was slowly but surely managing to steer a tipsy Vince, who was still swearing like a future sailor, towards the exit. It was a kind of unspoken agreement between them; both knew that they were volatile, and both knew that they could get aggressive when provoked, so both had secretly vowed that if he could see the other getting into any kind of trouble, he would step in and diffuse the situation.

As the bouncers calmly ushered them from the club, the sound of slurred curse words pierced the still night air, and Howard knew that he would have his work cut out for him tonight.

He swung and clamped his arms around Vince's waist as Vince lunged for the man following him. Vince doubled over, groaning, as Howard successfully managed to hold him back. He immediately started screaming obscenities again, his volume and vulgarity matched by his nemesis, who was also struggling against the restraining arms of another man.

Howard did his best to drag Vince away, pulling his raging friend further out into the street as Vince strained against him, still screaming and swearing at the man behind him, who was determined to follow them.

All of a sudden, the man had broken away. He was closer, so quickly. In one flashing moment, Howard's arms were empty. There was a cry of rage and a crunch of fists.

The other man was being dragged away. Howard watched him take a brutal punch to the nose from the very man who had been restraining him before.

And Vince was there, knelt on the floor, face pale as death, with the handle of a knife sticking out from his chest.

For a moment that felt like eternity, Howard could only watch. He watched Vince heave, he watched him fall forwards, watched the blood pour from the wound in his chest.

He saw people on phones, a bouncer hastily rushing outside.

He looked on as Vince's hazy blue eyes locked with his own.

He took hold of his friend and ran.

He ran until his arms ached and his leg felt ready to collapse, and his heart was almost about to explode with effort. He ran and ran as the streets grew dimmer, and the familiar lights of the Nabootique loomed ahead of him. He charged through the door and into the shop, hurtled up the stairs and ploughed through into the flat, with Vince's still body cradled in his arms.

The first thing Howard registered was Naboo rushing towards him. Bollo was close behind, and Howard felt the cool lightness as Vince was hurriedly taken from him.

"Give him back! Give him back, he's hurt! He needs me!

Howard was aware of the sound of his own crying, hearing it as though from a speaker across the room. He sounded desperate and distraught, and he realised with an unusual detached clarity that this must be how he was feeling. His limbs moved without instruction, clawing for Vince in their distress.

"Howard! Howard, calm down!" he heard, Naboo's South London lisp sounding unusually urgent. "Howard! Howard, he's dead."

The world stopped. Not a sound could be heard, not a breeze felt. Vision stopped moving. Yet Howard felt everything.

"No," he choked, the single word catching in his dry throat. "No! He can't be! He's alive. He's got to be alive."

"Howard," Naboo repeated in the softest voice he could manage. "I'm sorry, but there's nothing you can do. He's gone."

Howard stared, and took it all in. The pallid skin; the empty eyes; the glazed, soulless expression. The clothes only covered his body; they didn't extend it. Even his hair seemed to have lost its lustre.

He was a shell. Howard broke down and cried.

He felt a trembling hand on his shoulder.

"He's not dead," he sobbed. "He's not dead."

The hand circled across his back, the pressure weak and the movement nervous. Another hand joined it, wavering and limp.

It stopped, just for a moment.

"Give me a couple of hours or so," Naboo requested. "I'll see what I can do."  
The body shifted under him, and Howard dived on it, clutching Vince's empty form tight and dousing it with tears. "No!" He held Vince close and clasped his body to him, feeling the lifeless corpse stiffen and the skin grow colder and colder.

The body grew further away, pulled from Howard's grip, and Howard became aware of two large, hairy arms around his own, steadily hauling him away. He struggled, legs pushing and arms springing forward of their own accord, as he was pulled further away, and Naboo took up the body, struggling a little under the weight of the larger frame, and disappeared with it into his room.

The next few hours passed in a thoughtless haze of dulled music and refused offers of tea. Seven cups grew cold in front of him, yet still he waited, stock still, eyes clamped tightly on Naboo's bedroom door. Another cup was placed in front of him, yet still Howard ignored it.

The door opened and Naboo emerged. Howard almost overturned the table as he lurched forwards, catching himself just in time to avoid crashing into the small shaman and knocking him down.

"What-" he stuttered, his tongue getting stuck half way between his throat and his words. "What happened?"

"I've done the best I can," Naboo answered softly. "Come and see."

He led Howard by the arm into his bedroom. And there was Vince; pale, bloodless and not breathing, with a wide gaping hole in his chest, sitting up and looking around in confusion on the bed.


	2. Waking Up Cold and Afraid

Agh, I promised I'd have this one up earlier in the day, and of course, it's later. Emily is not the most reliable of persons, it would seem. But then, I have often said this, so just goes to show, really.

This is kind of slow, I guess, so I hope it doesn't bore anyone. This whole story was meant to be just the fluffsturbing (like that word? I made it up myself) after-death stuff, but looking at the reviews, I might try and get something of the consequences of what happened before the start of the story in there somehow. It was originally just meant to be a convenient plot device for zombie fluff. I suppose it depends on if I can come up with something convincing. But I will try.

Erm, forgot to disclaim in the last chapter, so: As we all know, none of this is mine. I never said it was.

Hope you enjoy.

* * *

Every emotion ever conceived rushed through Howard in a manic free-for-all, every single one of them colliding and crashing into a massive pile-up somewhere around his rib cage, leaving Howard speechless and numb and completely unable to move. When he eventually managed to recover, all he could do was throw himself onto Naboo's bed and fling his arms around Vince.

"Oh god," he stammered, holding Vince close as though he might disintegrate at any moment. "Oh god." He suddenly became aware that something wasn't quite right, and moved his left hand up to Vince's cheek. "Oh god, you're cold."

"Am I?" Vince asked.

"Yeah," Howard replied. "You're freezing. Come here, let me warm you up."

Vince leaned into him, and Howard wrapped his arms back around Vince's skinny, cold frame, rubbing him through his torn and bloody t-shirt and holding him more tightly. Vince tucked his arms between them, pressing himself into Howard's body, making Howard shiver.

"Howard." Naboo's voice was faint, but Howard heard it far too well. "He won't warm up."

Howard jerked his head around, his arms still tightly latched around Vince. "What? Why not?"

"I told you Howard; he's dead. He's got no heartbeat. There's no blood flowing, so he won't get any warmer."

Howard clutched Vince closer and didn't say a word. It was Vince who eventually broke the silence.

"Naboo, if I'm dead, then how come I'm still alive?"

Naboo shrugged. "Conscious life's just a by-product of certain electrical impulses in the brain. You stimulate the right bits, you can wake someone up from the dead."

Vince cuddled closer to Howard, chilling him like waves of ice.

"But… what about his heart?" Howard demanded. "And oxygen? He's not breathing."

"They're just functions to maintain the body," Naboo explained. "The conscious mind can exist without them. Unfortunately, the body will suffer."  
"What d'you mean, my body's gonna suffer?" Vince was almost shrieking now. His eyes were wide open, and his arms had now been removed from between his and Howard's bodies and were clamped around Howard's neck like frozen vices. "What's gonna happen?" he cried. "Bits aren't gonna fall off, are they?"  
"No," Naboo replied, though Howard didn't think his tone was particularly reassuring. "No, I don't think it'll get that far."  
Vince's face pressed into Howard's neck, and Howard had to fight to stop himself from recoiling from the cold. He watched as Vince's back began to shudder, and rubbed his shoulders gently before removing his hands to wipe Vince's eyes with his thumbs. To his surprise, he pulled them away completely dry.

Vince looked up at Howard, his eyes not showing even the slightest threat of tears. "Did you-"

"You're not crying."

Vince just looked confused. "Aren't I?" he asked. "I thought I was. I- I want-"

Vince's head fell forward. His face scrunched up and his body shuddered, but his eyes remained dry. Howard reached up and cupped his face. Vince sat and shuddered, crying without tears. When he finally stopped, he lifted his head, noticed Howard's hand on his cheek and jumped, almost falling right off the bed.

"Vince, are you alright?" Howard cried, practically leaping forwards to catch him by the waist.

Vince was unable to pull his eyes away from Howard's hands. His eyes were wide open again, and his face was set in surprise. "I- I- didn't realise you-" His eyes rose to Howard's face. "Howard, I've gone all numb. I can't feel anything."

Howard sprang forward to pull Vince back into a cold cuddle. "It's alright, little man," he soothed. "Come on, turn around."

He opened his legs and turned Vince around to sit between them. He moved Vince's hair out of the way and pressed his thumbs into the back of Vince's neck. His fingers curled around his shoulders, rubbing and pushing down to the collarbones, and his thumbs migrated downwards, firmly pressing into the shoulder blades. "Can you feel that?" he asked.

"No."

"He won't feel anything," Naboo insisted. "His central nervous system will have shut down."  
Howard ignored him and turned his attention back to Vince's neck. He pressed harder, making sure to put some heavy pressure onto the top few vertebrae. "How about now?"

"No, nothing."

"Alright then." Howard lowered one hand, but decided that, considering Vince was numb, it would be best to tell him what he was about to do. "I'm gonna put my hand under your top, alright?"

"Okay."

He slipped his hand under the bottom of Vince's t-shirt and raised it until he found the soft skin behind Vince's armpit. He took some of it between his finger and thumb and pinched as hard as he could, twisting the skin and digging his nails in just slightly.

"I felt something!" Vince squealed suddenly, sitting bolt upright. "It wasn't much but it was something!"

They both sat completely still for just one single, silent moment, before Vince spun round and flung his arms around Howard's neck. The chill ran through Howard immediately, but he steeled himself and hugged back, pressing his warm face into the coldness of Vince's hair. He felt Vince shudder again with those dry tears, and held his freezing body more tightly.

The room was silent until Vince finally calmed down. Howard eased him gently upright and cradled the back of his head with one hand. "Do you want to go to bed?" he asked.

Vince shrugged. "Dunno," he said. "Don't really feel tired."  
Howard rubbed at his shoulder with one hand. "But it's been a pretty overwhelming night, hasn't it? Especially for you. I mean, I can't even guess how confusing this must be for you." He felt Vince nod against his hand. "I think a proper night's sleep will do you good," he told him. "Clear your head a bit."  
Vince nodded again. Howard stood and pulled him up, and led him with an arm around his shoulders out if the room and into his own. Feeling Vince stumble slightly, he protectively tightened his hold around his shoulder. He pulled the covers back for him and helped him remove his bloody t-shirt. He waited as Vince climbed into bed and covered him over. Satisfied as Vince began to settle, Howard stroked his hair, noticing with some surprise that it was still soft, and said goodnight.

"Night," Vince replied, a sleepy weakness quietly creeping into his voice.

Howard turned and left, and wandered down to the kitchenette to throw the t-shirt into the bin. As he returned to his own room, he found Naboo in the corridor waiting for him. The shaman rushed at him, words rushing incomprehensibly from his mouth.

"Can it wait, Naboo?" Howard snapped. "I'm pretty tired too."

He went into his room and slammed the door. With barely the energy to undress and put on his pyjamas, he collapsed onto his bed and fell immediately asleep.

* * *

Howard awoke to the sound of frightened cries from the next room. Coming to in a rush of instinct, he bolted to the door and ran for Vince's bedroom. He hoped desperately that these were just the cries of Vince realising that he'd gone to bed in his favourite pair of jeans, but the sensible part of his brain doubted very much that this was the case.

He burst through the door to find Vince sitting up in bed with his knees pulled up to his chest and the covers bunched at the foot of the bed. Instantly, Howard was at his side.

"It's okay, little man, you're safe, I'm here," he garbled, his arms flying to Vince's shoulders. He let Vince fall heavily onto him, and the coldness in Vince's body shocked him again, making him flinch at the contact until the feeling sank in. "What happened?" he asked soothingly. "Did you have a nightmare?"

"No," Vince choked, turning away from Howard. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you up. It was nothing really."

"Vince, you were screaming. And look how tense you are. That wasn't nothing, little man. Now tell me what it was."

That shy smile found its way onto Vince face, and Howard couldn't ignore how odd the expression looked without that faintest of blushes, which was usually barely noticeable, but the absence of which was painfully apparent against Vince's wan, pallid flesh and cold blue lips.

"It's really silly," Vince protested, still not quite able to meet Howard's gaze. It was unnerving, Howard thought, the way he still acted like the Vince that Howard knew, still sounded like him and even looked like him, but without that inherent warm Vinceness that made him him.

"It won't be silly," Howard reassured him, rubbing his cold shoulders. "You were scared, and I was worried, and I want to know what was wrong. Look, I won't laugh, honest."

"Well, I-" Vince cut himself off with a little laugh, and Howard could see that it was a blatant affectation, a slight hint of fear lingering behind it. "Y'know I went numb? Well, I woke up, forgot where I was, couldn't feel the covers… all I knew was that I couldn't move." The smile dropped from his pale face, and he looked down, ashamed. "I panicked."

"It's alright," Howard whispered, bringing his face close to Vince's and cuddling his cold body closer. "Don't worry. We'll just put the covers back on and you can sleep on top of them."

Vince smiled weakly and still refused to meet Howard's gaze. "Actually, Howard… I don't feel like going to sleep right now," he told him. "I'd rather just stay up and watch the telly or something."  
Howard gave his shoulder a little squeeze. "That's fine, little man. Just come to bed when you're ready, alright."  
Vince nodded, and a silence fell over the room.

"Howard?" Vince eventually ventured, soft and trembling slightly, like a nervous mouse.

"What is it?"

"Could you- I mean, you don't have to- Would you mind staying up with me?"

Howard was tired. His eyes were heavy as lead, his thoughts were running in increasingly unusual directions, and he was beginning to have trouble focusing on Vince's words. But nonetheless, he smiled and patted Vince's shoulder and said; "Of course I will, little man."

Howard rose to his feet, and Vince shakily followed. Howard put his arm around Vince's shoulder again, and as they walked through into the living room, he stole a quick glance at the time. Twenty to six; a time he was sure Vince ad seen only once before, that time he hadn't gone to bed until half past seven in the morning.

They settled down on the sofa, Vince leaning his icy body into Howard's warmth, and Vince switched on the TV and began to flick through the cable channels. Reality TV and quiz shows and infomercials and endless repeats flashed in front of them, until an early episode of 'Colobus the Crab' finally caught Vince's attention.

"Alright! It's a marathon of the first series!" Vince grinned. "Do you mind this?"

Howard shook his head. He quite liked the first series of 'Colobus', before it had all gotten silly. He smiled as Vince relaxed against him, the slight shift in the cold pressure not quite enough to disturb him. Howard watched as Colobus was cast away by the lobsters and rescued by the wise old Walrus, and remembered the secrets that the Walrus would reveal in series five. What would 'Colobus' be like if it was animated, he wondered, and just why _do_ cartoon walruses always look so scary, like they're about to eat you, or suck your blood with those huge fanglike tusks…? ''Salem's Lot', now there was a good film, and come to think of it, it'd been a fair while since he'd last re-read 'Hearts in Atlantis'… If Atlantis was a real place, would Old Gregg have been there...? If he got down there without Old Gregg finding out, would there be other mermen, and mermaids…? Would they welcome him…? Treat him as a valued stranger…? Or even a hero…? Or a god…? And would there be pearls and sapphires, that he could string in Vince's lustrous, living hair…?


	3. Rigor Mortis

I am so sorry.

I honestly did mean to have this up before I went to bed, but I was knackered, and I thought if I proof-read it then, I'd miss things. I'm really sorry. Hopefully the length will make up for it. And you will get two chapters today, because I'll write chapter four if it kills me. Sorry love.

Anyway, warning: This chapter contains McFly. Why? Because they're the kind of thing you can only listen to when you're in the mood for something thats utter crap.

More disclaiming: I do not own McFly, or the lyrics to Top Gear Blues. I am not McFly. I don't even like McFly. I don't think anyone does like McFly. I do love Top Gear, but that isn't the point.

Also, I haven't checked, but I don't think rigor mortis advances or ends quite this quickly, but it's fanfic and it works better this way, so does anyone really care?

Chapter four WILL COME TODAY HONESTLY.

Ahem.

Hope you enjoy.

* * *

Howard shook himself slowly awake, grunting and easing out the crick in his neck. 10:41am. Why had he fallen asleep on the sofa?

Then he caught sight of Vince's deathly pale face staring forlornly at the floor, and the previous night leaked back into his memory.

"I'm sorry," Vince said quietly.

"What for?"

"I didn't mean to keep you up."

"Don't you ever feel guilty about that," Howard scolded, uneasily lifting his arms to Vince's shoulders to hug him, and shuddering as he remembered just how cold Vince's body actually was.

Vince's arms sent a chill piercing through him as they wrapped around his waist. "Thanks Howard," he mumbled.

They broke away, and an awkward silence filled the room until Howard finally said the first thing that came to his head; "Breakfast?"

Vince smiled, almost shyly. "I'm not really hungry."  
"Well, I'm starving," Howard informed him, getting up from the sofa. "You sure you don't want anything?"

Vince nodded the affirmative, and Howard reached an arm round to stroke at his neck. "Shout if you change your mind," he said, before noticing the dull breakfast show Vince had been watching. "When did 'Colobus' finish?"

"A couple of hours ago," replied Vince. "They were only showing the first series. It was gutting; I was getting well into it."

"Shame," Howard commented, before giving Vince's shoulder one final squeeze and wandering off to the kitchenette. He dropped some bread into the toaster, and was just waiting for it to pop when Naboo appeared, his robes looking a little shabby, and with bags under his bleary eyes. He shuffled through the living room and made a beeline for Howard, and said in a low voice that was almost a whisper; "I need a word with you." Without waiting for an answer, he took Howard by the arm and led him into the corridor.

"Jesus, Naboo, you look like you stayed up all night," Howard said, looking the tired, dishevelled and rather irate-looking shaman up and down.

"I did," Naboo replied, a little more harshly than necessary. "And I wanted to tell you this last night, but you wouldn't listen."

Naboo stared right into his eyes, and not one of Howard's brain cells could dare focus on anything else.

"Look, what I did with Vince… you need to know this, Howard, it's a big problem- I cheated death. He was already dead, and I fiddled around to bring him back. Which is a big no-no in everything. So, I'm really sorry I have to tell you this, but Vince can only stay alive for two days. The Reapers know he was dead, and they know he's cheated the system, and it'll take two days to get through the admin- Lost Soul Reclamation forms and all that- and then they'll come for him." Seeing the open-mouthed look on Howard's face and the wet glistening beginning to build up in his small eyes, Naboo added in a sympathetic tone; "I really am sorry, Howard."

The bottom felt like it had dropped from Howard's stomach, a cast iron weight falling through him and making his knees buckle so that he almost fell.

"You mean he's got till four o' clock the morning after next, and then he's gone?" Howard demanded, a sick feeling rising up to where his intestines should have been.

"Ten to; he needed a few minutes before I let you in," replied Naboo. "Don't tell him- I don't want him to be worried on the last days he's got left."

Naboo's eyes were so earnest that Howard couldn't help but agree, even as he felt his own tears prickling.

"I'm sorry," Naboo repeated. "I did my best, and I'm trying to work something out. But there's one more thing; you'll have to help him through rigor mortis."

"Rigor mortis?"

This time, Howard did stumble, and he heard Naboo strain to catch him and push him back onto his feet.

"Yeah, rigor mortis," Naboo confirmed. "His body's dead; it'll react like a corpse does. The rigor mortis should start sometime today. Hopefully it'll be over within the two days, but that's not a given. But either way, he'll have trouble moving and doing things for himself, so he'll need you just to get things for him, make sure he's comfortable, that kind of thing."

Howard nodded as the colour drained from his face. Feeling a hot rush rise through him, he steadied himself shakily against the wall. "And what about you?" he asked.

"I'll be trying to find a loophole around this rule," Naboo snapped defensively. Howard watched as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "And I've got 'Colobus' series two on DVD if Vince wants to borrow it."

"Cheers," Howard muttered.

Naboo opened his eyes, darted into his bedroom and emerged with a DVD, which he pushed into Howard's hands before disappearing again.

Noticing that his hands were shaking as he held the DVD, he walked back into the living room, his head feeling light and his gait shaky. He caught sight of Vince, his cold, greying face covered by a bored, blank expression as he flicked channels, and all the weight suddenly fell right on him again. His vision blurred and he felt the slim, hot tracks of tears running down his cheeks. He wiped them away and set his face into a grim smile, trying his best to drive the thought of losing Vince forever form his mind.

It didn't really help.

"You alright Howard?" Vince immediately asked, his expression jumping to worry as Howard walked into the room.

"I'm fine," Howard answered, attempting to widen his smile without looking like he was clinically insane, and hoping that the slight falter he had noticed in his voice was just a figment of his imagination. He held up the DVD. "Hey, look what Naboo's found out."

Vince's face lit up into a grin. "Series two! Oh, that is genius! Stick it in!"

Howard put in the DVD as Vince jumped excitedly on the sofa, and while it was loading he returned to the kitchenette and spread some jam over his now irritatingly cold toast.

"Are you sure you don't want anything?" he called back to Vince.

Vince called back that he didn't, but Howard decided to bring back one of those blueberry muffins that Vince liked so much anyway, just in case he changed his mind.

* * *

They watched the entire second series of 'Colobus the Crab' in one go, which took them until about five o' clock. Vince still hadn't wanted his muffin, so in the end Howard had wound up eating it himself when he had gotten slightly peckish around lunchtime.

After a quick glance at the special features, and a laugh at the blooper reel, Howard switched off the DVD player.

"Right, I'm hungry," he said. "You up for an early dinner?"

"I'm not really hungry still," Vince replied, shrugging.

"You haven't eaten all day," Howard reminded him, a little sternly. "Come on, if I make something, will you at least have some of it?"  
Vince gave him a small smile and sighed quietly. "Alright," he replied. "I'll see what we've got."

Howard smiled back and stood, heading for the kitchenette, and Vince began to push himself from the sofa. Howard heard an awkward "urrk!" and turned just in time to see Vince falling back into the sofa.

"You alright?" he asked.

"Yeah," answered Vince. He got up again, pushing himself more carefully this time and getting jerkily to his feet. "Just feeling a bit stiff."

Howard swallowed and tried to smile. "Um, yeah…" he began. "Naboo mentioned this to me. He said you'd get rigor mortis." Seeing the look of terror crossing Vince's face, he quickly continued. "But it'll be alright. This is all it'll be; you'll have a bit of trouble moving and your muscles might seize up, but I'll help you, alright, if you need anything, or if it gives you trouble. It'll only last a couple of days." A sudden pang of guilt stabbed him through the belly as he remembered just how long Vince had left, and he hastily added; "If that."

Vince nodded, his terrified expression now faded to one somewhere between anxiety and relief. Howard couldn't help but rest a hand on the small of his back.

"Can you walk alright now?" he asked.

"Yeah," Vince answered, stretching and shaking out his limbs to test them. "Just a bit… slow."

They crossed the room to the kitchenette, Howard keeping his hand on Vince's back just in case. He explored the lower cupboards while Vince covered the higher ones, Howard refusing to let him get on the floor. Eventually they decided on something simple, pasta with one of those ready-made tomato sauces with all the herbs in. Howard cooked; Vince had wanted to help, but Howard had insisted that he sit down and let himself be looked after. Vince had said that Howard was overreacting to the very mildest stage of rigor mortis, but in truth, though Howard did his best to drive the thought from his mind with all his willpower, he felt a duty to do everything he could for Vince before he lost him for good.

Once again though, his efforts proved useless.

He had actually enjoyed cooking. He and Vince had chatted about nothing, like they always used to, but rarely had the chance to do any more. As the pasta simmered, they'd even found themselves pulled into a crimp about Lloyd Grossman. Howard had forgotten himself for a while, and he found himself smiling, just enjoying Vince's company.

And then Naboo had barged in, looking every bit as haggard as he had that morning, bringing with him his words of redundancy.

"Oh yeah, Vince shouldn't really eat anything; his digestive system won't be working," he offhandedly informed Howard as he reached for the kettle. Howard glared daggers at him, but Naboo either ignored it or didn't see, and looked straight past Howard at the extra plate of food. "I'll have that," he offered, far more enthusiastically than normal. "Bollo's stocked up on those god-awful vegan burritos again. Did you use all of that cheese?"

Naboo absently blanketed the pasta with grated cheese in between making himself a cup of tea and lacing it with something odd and green, then took it all and wandered back to his room with it.

Howard sighed, took the other plate to the table and sat down opposite Vince. "I'm sorry Vince," he said, the sound of his voice muffled from his face being buried in his hands.

"It's alright," Vince soothed. The placing of a stone cold hand on Howard shoulder made him jump and gasp out loud, so Vince hastily pulled it away. "I wasn't hungry anyway." He made an odd sound, which Howard assumed would have been a sigh, if he'd had any breath in him. "I suppose that's to do with being dead as well."  
The way his voice and his gaze dropped almost brought Howard to tears again, and as though some other force had taken control of him, Howard found himself rising from his chair to envelop Vince in a tight cuddle. Vince hugged back, and a deep chill spread through Howard's body. But he didn't move, determined, however impossible anyone might say it was, to warm Vince up just a little.

But of course, it was impossible, so Howard eventually pulled away to Vince's quiet whisper of "thanks" and sat back down. He dug a fork into his food and began to wolf it down, barely pausing for breath as he shovelled it down his gullet.

"You don't have to hurry for me," Vince told him, an amused smile beginning to pull at his blue-grey lips.

"It just feels rude," Howard replied between gulps. "Sitting here and eating when you can't."

"It doesn't matter," said Vince. "Don't rush it. Enjoy it for me."

Howard slowed down, secretly grateful for the chance to stop overloading his stomach. Their conversation returned to the happy nothings of before, and Howard was able to smile again as the food began to satisfy his appetite.

He finished and dumped the plate in the sink, then turned back to see Vince struggling slightly to get up from his chair. Howard offered him a hand, and Vince took it gratefully, holding on and getting up like a cardboard cut-out.

"Getting worse?" Howard asked gently, holding Vince up just in case he lost his balance and couldn't recover himself.

Vince nodded, and the sad look on his pallid face chilled Howard to the core, yet at the same time made him want to cry. "I've got all this energy too," Vince told him sadly. "I want to go out, and dance or something, but I can't."

Howard just squeezed his arms and smiled. "Then we'll dance."

Vince looked at him with slight confusion, but Howard pulled him away and took him back to the sofa, letting him lean on the arm so he wouldn't struggle so much getting up, and then went to browse through the collection of CDs stacked on the various cabinets and side tables around the room. This was the tricky part; finding something they could both listen to without one of them going mad. There wasn't much. No one but Howard had ever been compelled to listen to Ellis Hall. Vince couldn't stand Chuck Berry. Howard liked some David Bowie, but doubted he could tolerate an entire album. And however much he wanted to please Vince, he was _not_ putting on the Human League. And-

"Who the hell bought a McFly album?"

Vince leaned forward as best he could manage and grinned incredulously. "We've got McFly?" he laughed. "Oh god… I bet that's Naboo's; he's full of secrets."

"I'm putting it on."

Vince exploded into laughter, and a moment later, cheesy pop-rock guitar filled the room, turned up to almost full volume, followed shortly by the bouncy teenage-boy vocals. Howard, almost collapsing with laughter himself, did an awkward sort of sashay across the room to Vince, whose wide grin seemed to restore some of that beautiful shine to his dead features. Howard held out a hand to him, and Vince took it and allowed Howard to help him back to his feet.

Dancing with the dead Vince was difficult. His joints were now almost frozen and he was forced to cling to Howard for dear life. Hs movements varied from those of an overexcited geriatric to those of a dodgy animatronic model, so Howard had to take control and lead, which wasn't easy considering that he wasn't the most graceful of dancers himself. After a few repetitive tracks, Vince seemed to limber up a bit, and stopped relying quite so much on Howard's support. He began to leave Howard's arms, just for a moment, dancing with more enthusiasm and moving more like himself. He stumbled once and Howard caught him, and when Vince was getting back up, Howard caught the brightest, widest grin he had seen on Vince's face for a long time. He heart tugged so hard it was almost painful, and his face was pulled into a smile just as wide as Vince's at the same moment that his eyes welled up.

But he ignored it, and carried on dancing.

The album had played the whole way through once, and a few of the earlier tracks had repeated themselves before they threw themselves down on the sofa in exhaustion. Howard sat and panted, glad now of Vince's cold body to soothe the heat that was radiating from him, while Vince just slumped still next to him. They looked over, and their eyes met and they smiled, then looked quickly away. A comfortable silence poured over them for one soft, warm minute, before Vince suddenly started giggling. It was a strange, unnerving sound, slightly hoarse as he struggled to bring air into his lungs, but Howard watched him enthralled. He laughed louder, until eventually he couldn't stop, and Howard found himself joining in, laughing until he couldn't breathe.

"What?" he asked, once he had eventually calmed down.

Vince managed to stop laughing for just a second, before starting again, calming down, and finally breaking into a song, choked slightly by laughter.

"_Sofa, Hyundai, administration,  
__Sofa, Hyundai, administration…"_

Howard burst out into uncontrollable laughter, and somehow through strained, rather painful breaths, found himself singing along.

"_Our reputation to lose,  
That's why we wrote the Top Gear,  
My penis grows huge,  
When I sing the Top Gear,  
I'm a little confused,  
That's why we sing the Top Gear Blues!"_

They burst into hysterics again, rolling over each other and gripping the sofa. Howard's sides ached as he gasped for breath, and his throat was beginning to get sore. When he finally managed to calm down, Vince was lying stiffly just on top of him, still deathly pale but grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"I think I've pulled a muscle," Howard groaned.

Vince made an odd sound, almost like a purr, and pressed his face into Howard's chest.

"Howard, turn the music off," he said, softly and contentedly, his voice muffled by the closeness. "It's really awful."

Howard grunted and got to his feet, and crossed the room to shut off the blasting music, briefly wondering what appeal it had had to him in the first place. He turned back to see Vince lying across the sofa, sweet and peaceful, his eyes half closed.

"Tired?" Howard asked.

"No, just dead."

The words made Howard shudder with a deep cold like frozen iron, though he tried not to show it.

He came back to the sofa and gently helped Vince to ease himself back into a sitting position, and then joined him, flicking on the TV and smiling as the cold from Vince's body washed over him as the dead man leaned over onto him.

* * *

The evening passed in a hazy wave of UKTV and laughing at nothing. After however many hours and however many repeated sitcoms and old chat-shows and adverts, Howard let out a long yawn.

"You going to bed, little man?" he asked.

"Nah, I think I'll just stay up again," Vince replied.

"You sure?"

Vince nodded, keeping his eyes on the TV screen.

"You should get some sleep, you know," Howard said, lazily extending a hand to stroke Vince's hair. "Calm yourself down, keep your head clear."

"I don't think I need it," Vince replied. "I mean, I'm dead. I don't feel tired, and I don't think I need to sleep."

"But then what are you going to do all night?" Howard asked him. "I'll be in bed, and Naboo and Bollo might as well be on Xooberon for how much we've seen of them lately. You'll just be sitting around bored."

Howard noticed that Vince wasn't looking at him. He was looking down again, the same ashamed look pulling on his pale features as Howard had seen when he had run into his room that morning, eyes downcast and his hair falling over his face.

"Vince?" Howard said softly. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Vince answered.

"Something's wrong," Howard insisted. "I always know when something's wrong with you; what is it?"

Vince looked away and hesitated a moment before speaking. "I'm scared," he admitted eventually, his voice small and quiet like a child's. "What if I go to sleep, and when I wake up I'm completely paralysed, and I can't even speak so no one knows there's anything wrong, and I'm just left while I can't move?"

Vince's body began to shake with the dry tears again, and Howard leaned in and held him, breathing in as chill began to slowly set in and holding him closer.

"Shh, it's alright," he soothed. "Tell you what, I'll stay with you tonight, and I'll make sure that nothing happens to you in the night, okay? You won't wake up paralysed, but if there's anything wrong, I'll help you. Alright?"

"But what if-"

"How about this; when you wake up, I'll say "Good morning starshine", and if you say "The Earth says hello", then I'll know you're okay? How does that sound?"

Vince smiled, making a tiny, silent half-laugh, and nodded slowly. Howard gave his shoulder a squeeze, and then got up and, noticing how difficult Vince was finding it just to position himself to get up from the sofa, picked him up and carried him like a child to his bedroom. He set him down gently on the bed, on top of the covers, and then lay down and settled next to him.

Their eyes met for a moment that jarred separate from the rest of existence. Then Howard leaned over and gave Vince a soft kiss on the forehead.

With a quiet "Goodnight", he was fast asleep.


	4. Last Day

It's finally here! A full ten days late! I can only apologise for this. But it's the longest chapter so far, and I hope it's worth it.

It's also quite slow. I just hope it's the good slow.

The next chapter should be shorter, and I have a better idea of where I want it to go than I did with this one, so hopefully the wait for that won't be quite so long.

I also realised that mine was the only birthday fic that doesn't actually feature Jamie as a character. With this in mind, I've tried to shoehorn you in, but, um... it's not the most flattering of roles. Sorry.

Warning: one use of a four-letter word.

Please enjoy.

* * *

Howard awoke to the soft light drifting in through Vince's curtains, and he stirred and moaned before opening his eyes and looking dazedly around the room. He snuggled into the softness of the bed, and then turned over to face Vince.

Vince was still fast asleep. His arms were twisted above his head and his legs were akimbo, and Howard thought his back was arched in an unusually severe way. Howard sat up sharply, worry hitting him like a punch to the gut, until he looked down and saw that Vince's face was peaceful. His eyes were closed lightly and his mouth just slightly open, his pale face free from any stress or tension. In the soft light, even amongst the greyish skin and oddly tangled limbs, he looked beautiful. Howard couldn't stop himself from reaching out an arm to touch his cold cheek, stroking his thumb gently over the cheekbone. He smiled and laughed softly, then removed his hand, remembering that the sleeping man was numb and would be unable to tell that he was being touched. He sighed and lay back down, watching Vince sleep, still and tranquil.

A soft grunt broke the easy silence and Vince's body shifted as his eyes slowly opened. He looked over at Howard, who picked himself up and leant on one arm to watch him, and smiled.

"Good morning starshine," said Howard.

Vince's face creased into laughter, high and sweet, and he turned his head to the side, facing away from Howard, unable to stop.

"No paralysis, I take it," Howard smiled.

Still shaking with quiet giggles, Vince shook his head. He suddenly noticed his contorted limbs. "How'd that happen?" he asked, gazing up at his bent arms with big, confused eyes.

"Who knows?" Howard replied, moving to a sitting position to help Vince straighten up.

Just as he was slipping his arm under Vince's back to try and soften the sharp arch in it, the door flew open and Naboo, now staggering slightly and almost as pale as Vince himself, burst in.

"Howard," he said, urgency creeping into his tired voice. "The police are here. They've come to ask about the night he died."

It took a few moments for the words to register, but after a moment of silence, Howard nodded and said quietly; "Okay." He gave Vince a nervous squeeze and followed Naboo out, closing the door behind him, and into the living room.

Two police officers, a man and a woman, were seated on the sofa. They got up as he entered to shake his hand.

"Good morning, Mr Moon," the woman said. "I'm Officer Flannigan, this is Officer Tucker. We've just come to ask you a few questions about the night of Vincent Noir's death. Is that okay?"

"Fine," he said, hoarsely, almost a whisper.

They sat down. The officers were looking at him with odd, pitying looks. He was glad he'd gone to bed fully dressed. It must have made him look quite out of sorts.

"Now, obviously our first priority is to find the killer. Could you describe him for us?"

Howard took a deep breath.

"Take your time," Tucker advised.

"He was… just a man. Local, I think. Not that tall. Average build. Short brownish hair. Was wearing a dark blue shirt and jeans. He got punched in the face. He might have a broken nose now…"

His voice had begun to falter. His eyes burned, and his breath hitched until his words became hitched in his throat.

"It's okay, don't rush yourself," Flannigan told him. "In your own time, is there anything else you can think of that might help us to identify him?"

He thought. He hadn't given much information. His description could fit half the men in London. But what else could he say? He had no idea who this man was. He was just a blurred image he had been trying to get away from. He was just a man. Just another man.

"…No."

"Okay. When you're ready, could you tell us how the murder occurred? Just start from the beginning. Anything you think might help."

Howard took in a long, shuddering breath. He closed his eyes a moment, replaying the entire night in his head. Then, as he tried to hold back the quiet tears, he told them everything. Everything that had fuelled the fight outside the club. Everything that had led to his best friend taking a knife to the chest.

How the night had started so normally. Howard had been enjoying himself. Vince had even seemed to be enjoying having Howard there. They were drunk. Not completely drunk; just pleasantly tipsy. Lightly intoxicated. Certainly in the mood for drinking more.

They'd approached the bar to find him slumped over half of it, slurring obscene propositions at the young woman who was desperately trying to serve other people.

And then Vince had said seven words. Seven words that had made this man explode in his face.

Seven words that had gotten Vince killed.

"_Will you fucking move? She's not interested."_

Seven words.

Howard couldn't speak for tears.

As he closed his eyes to the room around him, he could feel the heavy presences of the officers moving closer, and could only look up again when Naboo appeared to push a cup of tea into his hands. He sipped it slowly, scalding his tongue a little, aware that Naboo had remained by his side. As he calmed down, the officers sat back down and Naboo retreated.

"If you could give us just a few more minutes," Flannigan said softly. "Can you tell us anything about the theft of the body?"

Howard's blood ran cold, seeming to freeze solid within him. He felt his heart pound emptily in his chest. He was sure that the deep, bitter sinking he could feel inside himself was the colour draining from his skin.

"It's alright," he heard Flannigan say. He looked up to see yet more pity in their faces, and felt a slight relief enter him for just a moment. "Don't rush yourself."

Howard opened his lungs several times but didn't seem to take in any air. Eventually he managed to choke; "It was… a girl."

"A girl?" asked Tucker.

"Yeah, a girl. Young. Short. Ginger. Screaming that she had the power of resurrection."

"What?"

"Yeah. They do that a lot when he's around."

"Do they?"

"You don't live round here, do you?"

"Is there anything else you can tell us at all, Mr Moon?" asked Tucker. "Any piece of information you may have could bring us closer to prosecuting the killer and recovering the body."

"No. There's nothing."

"You're absolutely sure?"

"Certain."

The officers nodded to each other and stood. "This is the number of the local police station," said Flannigan, passing him a small white card. "Call us if you can think of anything at all we might need to know."

"I will. Thank you."

They left for the stairs, and Naboo reappeared to show them out.

Howard just sat still in shock, heart pounding and sick to the stomach, as Naboo came back in, called "Nice one" to him, and disappeared again. The minutes ticked, and eventually Howard got up, pausing at the bathroom door before deciding that he wasn't quite nauseas enough to be sick, and returned to Vince's bedroom.

Vince was sitting up on the bed, stretching out his neck.

"Feeling better this morning, then?" Howard smiled.

"Much better," Vince replied, flashing a wide grin and extending his arms slowly out in front of him. "You'll be teaching me to tango in no time."

That short, sharp, guilty feeling stabbed through Howard's torso again. He steeled himself, pushed it aside and laughed. "Why would I be teaching you to tango?" he asked, slightly bemused.

"Don't you want to teach me to tango?" Vince responded, his big eyes catching Howard's, just for a moment.

Howard felt his intestine tie in a knot as a warm stream of nervous guilt ran through them. "What makes you think I know how to tango?" he stuttered.

Vince just smiled, and Howard's internal organs readjusted themselves back into a comfortable position. "Makes sense," he said. He looked back up at Howard, his wide smile sparkling on his pallid face. "We should learn to tango. We'd be brilliant at it. We'll do it, when my rigor mortis has gone. We'll get some lessons. I'll be the world's first ever dead tango dancer!"

Once again Howard was aware of freezing his facial muscles to stop his smile from faltering. "Yeah, you'll go down a storm," he replied.

"Howard, are you alright?" asked Vince. "You look sort of constipated."

Howard felt the prickling under his eyelids, followed shortly by the tug at the corners of his mouth as it began to twitch rapidly. In a moment he was slumped over Vince on the bed, the dead man's cold arms enveloping him as he cried into the icy hug. Dull waves of cold pressure pulsed along his back and shoulders as Vince held him and rubbed them soothingly.

"Howard, what is it?" Vince choked, his voice high and cracking, afraid, like a child.

Howard heaved against him, shaking with tears. He pulled himself upright, supporting himself on his arms. "I'm sorry," he sniffed, coughing softly through his tears. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to- I'm so sorry."

Vince lifted his gaze to Howard's streaming eyes. "Howard… please, don't… It's okay, really. I mean…" He cracked a weak smile. "…I'm the one that's dead."

One more hot rush burned through Howard's body, and his eyesight faded to a blur as he pressed his face into Vince's freezing shoulder. Vince's body shook next to him, and Howard almost thought he could feel tears trickling down his back like hot oil. He sniffed, shuddering, and pushed himself back up.

"Sorry," he said, his voice so weak it could barely be heard. "Oh god, I didn't mean to make you cry as well." He reached out a hand to wipe Vince's eye, stroking his thumb against Vince's cold cheekbone when it came away dry. He sniffed again, a few stray tears still rolling down his wet face. Vince gave him that strained smile again, and Howard's heart swelled inside him and pushed a few more tears from his eyes. "I'm just- I dunno… It's huge. Overwhelming. I'm sorry, Vince."

"It's okay," Vince replied, almost in a whisper. "I suppose I'd be like that, if you were dead, and I could see you in front of me like this."

Howard heaved again with the effort to block his tears, and felt himself being pulled into another cold hug. A desire, almost a need, burned in him, straining from secrecy and mad with effort, to tell Vince everything. About the Reapers, and Naboo cheating death, and ten to four the next morning… He ached and burned to get it off his chest, to stop all this weight from crushing him, to finally stop keeping secrets and let it all out into the open.

But he held himself back. He had to. Because however much he wanted to relive himself of this weight, he couldn't put it onto Vince when he now had less than twenty-four hours left to live.

All thoughts in him stopped when he felt the tender press of cold lips on his cheek.

Howard stayed perfectly still for a moment, then pulled away slowly, his wet, sore eyes lingering on Vince's anxious features.

"I'm sorry," he said again as he finally managed to get his breathing under control. "I really didn't mean to upset you. Just got a bit carried away." He did his best to smile, and hoped it worked.

"It's fine," Vince reassured him. He smiled, the gesture stronger now that Howard was calm. "Anyway, what did the police have to say?"

"They were asking about… the night before last. And… about the theft of your body."

"What'd you tell them?"

"Ginger girl took it thinking she could bring you back."

"Ginger girl?" Vince mused, biting his grey lip in thought. "Aww, not her! What'd you bring her into it for? She's lovely! She ain't gonna appreciate the pigs coming round and accusing her of things. What's her mum going to say?"

Howard could only look down, uncomfortably aware that his lip was trembling again. "It was the first thing I thought of." His voice came out small and high, strained and on the verge of breaking. "I had to say it, or they'd have suspected something."

A cold hand squeezed his shoulder. "I know, I'm sorry," Vince replied. He paused a second, before continuing. "Let's just… forget about it, alright. We'll go do something. Take our minds off it."

Howard sighed. "It should be me saying things like that."

Another icy hug sent a chill through him, and he leaned into it. Vince's voice was muffled by Howard's shoulder as he whispered; "You need help too."

Vince gave him one final squeeze, and they got up and went out to the living room, Howard still keeping one arm around Vince's waist. Vince's movement was much more fluid than it had been the night before, but he was still a little stiff and clunky, and Howard worried about him stumbling.

Vince sat down and switched on the TV while Howard threw together a quick breakfast and came back to join him. With the mid-morning TV up to its usual standard, Vince had settled for kids' cartoons, and was smiling faintly at something involving three oddly-drawn boys.

Howard picked through his breakfast, occasionally letting out a quiet giggle at the surreal adventures on the screen. When the cartoon finished and gave was to a depressingly chirpy gossip programme, Vince picked up the handset to flick.

Howard glanced over at Vince, and his chest tightened as he saw the downcast look on Vince's face. He watched Vince's eyes drift over to the window, just for a moment, as he flicked channels.

Howard held himself as the pang faded away, but almost physically shuddered when he saw Vince look over at the window for a second time.

"Vince," he said, his voice oddly quiet for such a mundane question. "Do you want to go out somewhere today?"

Vince just looked at him sadly. "Well I can't, can I?" was his reply. "I'm dead- how's that gonna look?"

"Doesn't matter," Howard told him, nudging his shoulder gently.

"Course it does," Vince argued. "People don't just go out and see zombies walking around town trying on clothes and buying CDs and feeding the pigeons, do they?"

"Who cares what they think?" Howard responded. "You've taken your fair share of risks before and thought nothing if it- what's being dead when you've gone out in silver bovver boots?"

"I care! The police'll care!"

Howard put his arm round him. "Come on Vince, what happened to wanting to go out and get tango lessons?"

"I was thinking we could just get a teacher to come to the flat," Vince replied, and Howard noticed a definite waver in his voice. "Just until I… you know…"

"Oh, Vince, this isn't like you-"

"Yeah, well I wasn't dead before, was I?"

Vince spat the words out with so much force and venom that Howard was stunned into silence, and just sat there, pressing his back into the sofa and staring at Vince, who was leaning forward in his seat, clutching his knees.

Vince raised his head. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice heavy with forced calm.

Howard breathed in slow, shallow breaths. "It's fine," he replied.

Vince's posture softened and Howard smiled in relief and relaxed. He turned his attention awkwardly back to the television, not quite able to take anything in, until he was interrupted by a weak little voice.

"I really wish I could though."

Howard didn't say a word. He just shifted in his seat to turn a little more towards Vince and opened his arms, and Vince fell with a light thump onto his chest. Howard closed his arms around him as Vince put his hands up to rest on Howard's shoulders, snuggling and burying his face. He held him close for a moment, the coldness of his body dulled by his need to let Vince feel as close and content as he possibly could. He brought his head down to rest it on top of Vince's own, breathing deeply into his soft hair, rocking him and rubbing his arms up and down his shoulders. Vince responded by cuddling closer, and before he could stop himself, before he even realised what he was doing, Howard pressed his lips gently to the top of Vince's head.

And after this one, he couldn't let himself stop. Kiss after slow, soft kiss was laid on Vince's head, gradually moving lower, and as Vince lifted his head to look into Howard's eyes, Howard lowered his own head and placed a final little kiss onto Vince's icy cheek.

This time, it was Vince who was unable to speak. He just buried his head again into Howard's chest, and Howard pulled him closer in.

They sat like that for a while, the television forgotten as one show faded into another, the faint thrum of background noise just present to remind them of the world outside themselves. Howard felt a lull on his mind. The warmth of the room and the dull chill from Vince's body melded together in a hazy half-world, creating a detached comfort in which minutes passed in seconds. In a miasma of nothingness, Howard noticed that Vince's face had risen, and was now looking straight up into his own. His expression was clear and open, his eyes wide and his mouth open in honest confusion. Howard was suddenly aware of the clash of hot and cold between them, the close proximity of their faces, and even the path of his own breath blocked by Vince's face. His heart began to thump, booming deep and resonant in his ears, and his body became frozen with a warm tingling pressure.

But just as soon as he began to become aware again of other sounds in the room, to notice other feelings, to lift his right hand from Vince's shoulder in order to place is gently on the back of his head, Vince had dropped his gaze and buried his face back into Howard's shirt.

Howard just left his hand where it was and carried on holding.

He looked at the clock and realised that an hour had passed.

* * *

When Vince eventually pulled himself from Howard's lap and settled back next to him, leaning against his side, Howard decided not to say anything. Vince picked the handset up to silently flick channels again, and Howard got up to get himself a sandwich. He wasn't sure if it was a late lunch or a very early dinner, but it didn't matter. Snack food lasted all day long.

That dejected look had returned to Vince's face when Howard returned. Howard sat back down next to him, transferred his sandwich to his other hand and put his arm around him.

"There's still time to go out, if you want to," he said quietly. "The shops are open for a bit longer. You can just tell people the undead look's coming back in."

Vince's reply was curt and low. "It was never in to start with."

"There's a first time for everything."

"Not _this_," Vince insisted. "I'm a zombie. That'll never be in fashion."

"It will be if you tell them it is," Howard reasoned. "They trust you."

Vince shook his head. "Not on this. They'll never look at me again if they see me like this."

Howard squeezed tighter. "Then go out in disguise."

"It won't work."

"Vince, come on," Howard said, almost pleading through the quietness of his voice. "I don't like seeing you like this. You deserve the best. I want to see you enjoying yourself. I don't want to see you denying yourself anything you want, especially not…"

…_Especially not when you're going through so much. When you're suffering more than you need to be. When it would cheer you up so much, and cheer me up so much to see you smile._

…_When you die tomorrow morning._

Before Howard could say another word, Vince leant over into him again, his cold arms a comforting, still presence around Howard's shoulders.

He sat there, silent.

And then; "I'm scared."

Howard heard his voice clearly, if ever so slightly muffled. He felt a tiny buzzing vibration against his collarbone as Vince spoke. Yet he couldn't quite believe these words could have come from Vince's mouth.

"Vince-"

"I don't want to go out there, for them to see me like this. I just want to…"

He clasped his arms tighter around Howard, hanging on desperately to his neck.

Howard held him, weakly, not quite sure what to do. So he just held him.

Without removing it from Howard's shoulder, Vince turned his head up to look at him. "Howard, tonight…"

"Yeah?"

"Would you mind… staying with me again?"

Howard felt his heart lift in spite of itself. "Of course not," he answered. "I'll stay with you as long as you like."

_Until ten to four tomorrow morning._

"And…"

"What?"

"Will you… hold me, like this?"

"Of course. But what if you get scared that you can't move again?"

"Then you can wake me up and tell me everything's okay."

Howard tightened his embrace and smiled. "Absolutely."

He felt Vince press himself closer to his body. He was filled with an overwhelming urge to kiss the dead man who was cuddled up to him so closely again. So he did. With one hand just gently resting on the back of his neck, he pressed more tender, gentle kisses to Vince's dark hair.

And then Vince began to shake. And the room was filled with the most beautiful, welcome sound.

Vince was laughing.

"What?" Howard asked, feigning that he was affronted, but secretly straining to stop himself from laughing as well.

"I dunno," Vince replied, the grin on his face striking Howard as perhaps the most wonderful thing he'd ever seen. Howard let out a little chuckle and lowered his head to plant a quick, cheeky kiss on Vince's nose, which made him giggle even louder.

"I love you."

The words were gone before Howard had a chance to properly register them, disappearing into insubstantiality and becoming part of the shifting air. Already unsure whether or not they had ever existed at all, all Howard could think to do was to kiss Vince's cheek again. Vince grinned and rested his head back on Howard's shoulder, more softly this time, giving him a slight nudge.

"Hey, I know," he said suddenly. "I'm gonna go and see if Naboo's got 'Colobus' series three lying around somewhere."

"No," Howard said, a sudden pang of worry rising inside him, hinting of the idea that Vince could see just what Naboo was up to. "I'll go. Naboo's been in a foul mood the past few days. I might as well take the fall for it."

Vince gave him a slightly petulant look, and Howard kissed him on the forehead, which seemed to appease him, and then got up to make his way to Naboo's room. He pushed the door open and was greeted by the overpowering stench of thick scented fog mixed with acrid smoke. Naboo's pointed finger shot out immediately, and Howard followed it to where the entire 'Colobus the Crab' collection was stacked on a bookcase.

"How's it going?" he dared to ask.

"Fine. Get lost."

Howard shrugged, took the DVDs and left.

Series three was, to Howard, where the plot had started to get unbelievable. Not that it was as bad as the later ones- he could barely stand to watch series eight- but he didn't like it anywhere near as much as the first series, or even the second. But Vince was enjoying himself, and that was enough for Howard.

He got up after a few episodes to make himself some dinner. He told Vince that it wouldn't be necessary to pause it till he got back, and he settled for the simple pleasures of microwave noodles.

As each episode wore on, the two of them found themselves drifting closer and closer together, until the series ended, and they were wrapped in each other's arms. Howard looked down at Vince, awed into silence by the contentedness in his expression, watching as Vince couldn't quite meet Howard's gaze.

The sharp, piercing feeling of a loss not yet lost, the intangible memory of something that was still right there, pulsed through his heart once again. It made him grimace, and he was glad that Vince wasn't looking.

He let out a soft sigh and stroked Vince's hair.

"Vince?" he asked, almost nervously. "Do you want to make an early start on this night where I hold you?"


	5. Don't Fear The Reaper

I finally managed it. This was just meant to be a quick birthday present, but it's actually among the longest fics I've ever written. This chapter was meant to be up on Jamie's birthday, which was now exactly two weeks ago. That's reliability for you.

It's 2am and I don't know if anyone's still here, so I'll let this speak for itself.

Tho hopefully now with one less request done, I can actually get on with reading some stuff. I owe one hell of a lot of reviews.

Warning: some dead body-related contact that some people might not be comfortable with, tho it is meant to be tender.

Hope you enjoy this long-awaited finale, and for all those who were wondering what it could be, I hope it doesn't disappoint.

* * *

The first thing Howard became aware of was the warmth. It was like being surrounded in a tight, warm cocoon, nice and soft and protective.

The next thing he noticed was that his arms were empty.

He opened his eyes, his mind still dull and slow, and tried to get his bearings. It was dark. He was comfortable. He was in Vince's room. In Vince's bed. Snuggled under the covers. Warm. Alone. He sat up slightly, and realised that he'd even been tucked in.

In the harsh yellow glow from a streetlight outside, he could just make out the shape of Vince's body sitting slumped on the edge of the bed.

"Little man," he called softly. "Are you alright?"

No reply.

"Come back to bed," he requested.

Vince was still for a moment, and just as Howard was about to open his mouth to speak again, Vince lay back on the bed and crawled up to where Howard was lying. He settled himself next to him, a wide gap between their bodies, and just looked at the neon strip of light on the ceiling.

"Vince?" Howard asked. "What's wrong? Come here."

He removed his arms from the covers and extended them towards Vince, but Vince just shook his head and turned away.

"Vince-"

"You were cold." His voice was so detached that Howard almost thought it was coming from the shadows. "I was making you cold."

"It doesn't matter-"

"You were shivering."

Howard curled an arm around Vince's waist, but Vince just shuffled away. Howard caught a glimpse of the clock. 3:39.

"Vince, come here," Howard said, turning over and spooning him from behind. "I'd freeze all night for you."

This seemed to have won Vince over. He twisted awkwardly to face Howard, and Howard pulled him close as the cold chill invaded the thick warmth of the bed. They lay still, Howard's steady breathing and the hum of some distant household appliance the only sounds audible in the gloom. Vince's eyes flickered closed and his expression softened. Deciding that he must have fallen asleep, Howard leant up to steal another glance at the clock. 3:51.

3:51?

Perhaps they weren't coming. Maybe Naboo had gotten it wrong. Maybe Vince was saved. Oh, thank God!

_CRASH!_

What was that?

"Howard, what was that?"

Howard hadn't realised that he had jerked bolt upright. Vince was sitting right up next to him. His heart pounded like it was going to explode, and the sound seemed to blast from every corner of the room. The steady, deep thump of footsteps ascending the stairs from the shop echoed through the entire flat.

"Howard…" Vince whispered.

Howard shakily stood. "Get behind me," he instructed.

"But you-"

"Get behind me!"

Vince staggered to his feet and did as he was told. Howard stood still, shaking, as the footsteps came closer and closer, vainly wishing that Vince had some interest in sport, so that he might have been able to find a cricket bat, a hockey stick, or even a tennis racquet to hand. But there was nothing, so Howard just stood there, his nails digging painfully into his palms.

The door opened. It stepped in.

It was huge and black and faceless, swathed in a long black cloak. Its edges melded into the darkness of the room, and the light from the streetlight glinted off the long scythe in its hand.

Cold stabbed through Howard's abdomen as Vince's arms wrapped around his waist. He reached one arm back to put a hand protectively on Vince's hip.

The creature walked further into the dark room. Howard saw the position of its head shift slightly as it looked him dead in the face.

"Aww, come on mate, don't make this any harder than it already is."

Howard stood stock still, and the room pulsed with silence until the Reaper spoke again.

"Can we have some light in 'ere? I can't see a bloody thing."

Howard watched the thing shuffle along the wall, groping at it, before muttering something and moving over to the wall on the other side of the door. Eventually, it managed to find the lightswitch, and the room was filled with harsh, bright light.

"Hey, oh my god, it's you!" In the light, Howard noticed as he managed to stop himself from blinking, the Reaper looked considerably less frightening. In fact, it looked more than anything like a man in a not particularly impressive Hallowe'en costume. "'Ere, your hair looks nice," it continued, looking over Howard's shoulder at Vince. "How long you had it like that for?"

"Erm… couple of years now," Vince replied, his voice trembling just slightly, torn between abject fear and blatant confusion.

"It suits you," the Reaper told him, before stepping closer and extending a hand. "Right, anyway- come on, let's be havin' you."

As it came a step closer, Vince pivoted around Howard's body, clutching him so tightly that Howard suspected he may have internal bruising.

"You're not taking him," Howard asserted, his power somewhat lacking, owing to having been winded by Vince.

Vince's icy grip on his waist tightened even more, leaving Howard barely able to breathe through the chill in his insides.

"Howard," he stammered. "What's he mean? Is he- Did you- Why?"

"I'm sorry," Howard whispered in reply, his voice shaking as he squeezed Vince's cold, bony hip tighter. "We didn't want you to be worried."

"Come on mate, there's nothing to be worried about," the Reaper interjected. "You've been there before; you know it don't hurt."

"He's not going," Howard insisted.

"I'm not going," Vince echoed.

The Reaper looked back at Howard and asked quizzically; "Who are you?"

"You know who I am; I'm Howard Moon."

The Reaper just looked at him blankly, which was quite impressive, considering that it didn't have a face.

"The other one, the one he was coming to rescue," Howard elaborated.

Another blank look. "Doesn't ring a bell."

"I was the man in the monkey suit!"

A long silence hung over the room. The Reaper just continued to stare in bewilderment. "I think I'd remember that."

"Look, it doesn't matter!" Howard squalled. "The point is: he's not going anywhere."

"I've got to take him," the Reaper insisted. "I'm sorry mate, but I've got the paperwork and everything."

It dug around in its cloak, rustling through numerous layers of black fabric and muttering to itself, before pulling out a crumpled piece of paper and waving it about.

"Here we go- Lost Soul Reclamation form." It handed the paper to Vince, who made that hitched, breathless gasping sound as he looked through it. The Reaper continued; "Signed by all the relevant authorities. I've got to take you down to HQ, mate. Your soul is now legally the property of Afterlife Incorporated."

Howard could hear the drumming of his own heartbeat again as Vince pressed himself tightly into his back.

And then another voice pierced the still air.

"Except it isn't."

The Reaper turned away to reveal Naboo standing in the doorway, his face obscured by a five-o'-clock shadow and bags under his eyes that were so dark he looked like he'd been in a fist fight. His robes were creased and dull, and he had a crisp piece of paper of his own in one hand.

"Sorry I'm late," he said blankly. He indicated the paper. "This only just came through."

"Naboo, help," Vince said, his tone not far from pleading, his voice high and shrill.

"Alright, calm down; I'm here, aren't I?" replied Naboo, walking further into the room.

"Mate, please, I've explained all this," objected the Reaper. "He's dead, I'm a Reaper; that's the way it works."

"Don't get arsy with me, _mate_; I know the rules," Naboo snapped. "Vince- have a look at the back page. There'll be a blank signature line. It says that your soul doesn't become the property of Afterlife Incorporated _until_ you're brought to HQ."

Unable to remove his gaze from the clearly irate Reaper and the scruffily smug shaman, Howard could only listen as Vince flicked through the form. He felt a quick, cold squeeze at his waist as Vince found what he was looking for.

"That may be true," the Reaper was saying, "but he's still dead- he's given up any claim of ownership over his own soul. He's got no right to try and stop me taking him."

"No, he doesn't," Naboo conceded. "But let's just say that before Afterlife Incorporated took possession of his soul, he gave it to someone else."

"Well, yeah, theoretically, that would stop me, but it's not that simple."

"Vince has given himself heart and soul to Howard Moon," Naboo stated. "The signs-"

"'Ang on, who?"

"Him!" Naboo screeched, pointing at Howard.

"Oh, right. Carry on."

Naboo made an odd combination of a sigh and a grunt. "The signs are all there," he informed the Reaper. "The awkward pauses, the altruism, the protectiveness, the almost-kissing-but-not-quite-because-it's-technically-necrophilia, the endless cuddling, they're sleeping together-"

"Not in that way," Howard interjected.

"Yet."

Had Vince said it, Howard would have felt an unusual urge to reach around and give him a pinch on the bum, regardless of whether or not he was numb. But as it was, coming from Naboo, Howard was simply quite disturbed.

"The signs might be there," the Reaper argued, "but that doesn't make a difference. You'd need a…"

It trailed off as Naboo waved his piece of paper in its face. "Heart and Soul Ownership Transference form," he gloated. "Filled in on their behalf, signed, stamped and validated. Vince Noir's soul is now legally the property of Howard Moon, which means that you can't take it without Howard's permission." He looked over, caught Howard's eye and smiled triumphantly. "And I don't think he's going to give it."

"Not for a second," Howard confirmed.

A dejected sigh emitted from the Reaper. "Alright," it said, slumping and turning to the door. "Fax me a copy of that form, yeah."

And with a cacophony of heavy footfalls and irate mutterings of "I'm a cockney, I'm a bleedin' cockney", it was gone.

The room was tense and still with silence once again, and Howard realised that he'd been holding his breath.

The cold aura around him faded quickly away as Vince charged forwards to throw his arms around Naboo. "Thank you!" he cried.

"Alright," Naboo grunted. "Get off me, you're freezing."

Vince let him go, and Howard came forward to put his arms round him, standing back and looking at Naboo in deepest gratitude.

"Right, I'm getting some sleep," Naboo told them. He turned and went to leave.

"Wait, Naboo," Howard called, the uncertainty of his idea causing a noticeable waver in his voice.

"What?" Naboo asked, turning back.

"You said that Vince gave himself to me heart _and_ soul?"

"Yeah…"

"So I've got control over his heart as well?"

"Well, yeah."

"So, if I wanted to…"

He trailed off, and silently lifted Vince's t-shirt, while Vince compliantly raised his arms for him to remove it. Howard looked at the wide cut in Vince's chest, and after a moment's hesitation, he pushed his fingers slowly inside, gradually breaking a little more skin to accommodate his whole hand, turning his wrist to fit it between the ribs, and gently wrapped his fingers around Vince's small, still heart, stroking his thumb softly over the hole where the knife had pierced it.

"…I could command it to heal."

His thumb jerked as he felt the wound in Vince's heart begin to close up. Within moments, there was no trace of it having ever existed at all. He gasped quietly as Vince's heart swelled, then beat, and then carried on into a slow, regular rhythm. His body began to warm against Howard's, and the colour flooded back into him. He choked slightly as he pulled in a lungful of air, and gave a painful cry as tears began to fall from his eyes. Howard could only pull him closer and watch the shimmering tears fall as he held his beating heart. Blood began to flow from his chest, and Howard gently eased out his hand and pressed it over the gash, and when he pulled it away, all that remained was a thin, white scar.

His bloody hand moved to hold Vince around the shoulders while the other remained at his waist, and Vince shivered at the touch.

"Oh god, Howard!" he gasped. "I can feel everything. Everything's tingling!"

Howard pulled him closer and softly caressed his skin, making Vince moan loudly. Suddenly, his breath was cut off by Vince's mouth- so soft, so wet, and so beautifully warm- as it closed over his own, pulsing and moving as Vince pressed his entire body right up to Howard's own. Howard relaxed and responded, stroking Vince's back and eliciting the most delicious shivers and moans. Vince pulled away all too quickly, crying out and gasping for oxygen.

"I'm sorry," he breathed. "I-" He was forced to stop as he desperately took in huge lungfuls of air. "I had to do it… while everything was still tingling."

"It's fine," Howard gasped in reply, a little short of breath himself.

Vince collapsed against him, and Howard held him up, feeling every pulse of his heartbeat, every quick intake of breath, every tiny movement of his beautiful living body.

* * *

Naboo had insisted that Vince eat something as soon as possible, so Howard found himself in the kitchenette heating up one of Bollo's burritos at Vince's request, while Naboo slumped half-asleep over the table and Vince wolfed down everything that was put in front of him.

Howard brought the burrito over and sat down next to him as Vince began to shovel it into his mouth. Listening to the impassioned, if a little amusing, sounds Vince made as he tasted each bite, Howard felt a compulsion to stroke his shoulder, but decided against it, not wanting to distract Vince from the food.

"So what happens now?" he asked Naboo. "Is that it?"

Naboo moaned groggily. "Pretty much," he answered. "Except Vince is semi-immortal; he won't die until you do."

Howard turned and silently caught Vince's gaze. They looked away, Naboo put his head down, and Vince carried on eating.

* * *

Naboo went to bed not long after. Looking at the dawn just beginning to break outside, Howard suggested that he and Vince should do the same. Vince, who had discovered a large bag of dolly mixtures in one of the cupboards, gave him a look that was so adorably pleading that Howard allowed him to take them to bed with him.

So they lay together in Vince's bed, Vince still shovelling sweets and Howard taking the occasional one, talking about nothing and everything, laughing, pushing the last two days from their minds, at least for now. Vince lay his head down on the pillow, his eyes beginning to close, and Howard took the bag of sweets, arousing a quiet protestation from Vince, and put them on the bedside table. He turned off the lamp and snuggled up to Vince, wrapping his arms around him and feeling Vince's arms curl around him in return.

"Never die again," he muttered sleepily.

"When I do, you're coming with me."

With a laugh and a kiss that tasted of sugar and flavourings, they fell fast asleep, tight and content and warm, coiled in each other's arms.


End file.
